Everyone was looking at Kurt. It was a strange feeling, to be the leader, but also kind of scary.
"No," he said. "Not all of us. We'll split into teams. Team A will search to the north. Team B, the south. The third will stay here."
"Wait!" Ricky's voice stopped them in their tracks. "I... I can see something else."
Ororo was on her feet in an instant. Whatever delusions of grandeur Kurt had, she was still the adult in charge of this situation, and took command easily. "What? What do you see? A landmark?"
Ricky shook his head. "No... it's... they're..." An expression of fear suddenly etched his face, and he looked up at them. Nicole raised an eyebrow, and he nodded. "A pair of Hounds. She has a pair of Hounds on her trail."
*
"And this," Rahne stopped in front of a door, "is my old dorm."
Susan smiled politely, despite the fact that touring the lycanthrope's former residence was nowhere near the top of her priority list.
Grinning widely, Rahne pushed the door open and began to enter. "Oh my," she said as a girl looked up in surprise. "Terribly sorry. I didn't know anyone was using this room."
Susan's gaze was drawn to the chair the girl was sitting in, which seemed to be made solely of light.
"We'll just, um, go now," Rahne's face reddened as she backed out and closed the door.
"Who was that?"
Rahne shrugged. "Dunno. New student, I expect. I *have* been at Xavier's for quite a while. Suppose they couldn't just let an empty room go to waste." She moved on, and Susan trailed behind her.
*
The assembled teenagers jolted in their uncomfortable waiting room chairs as Logan banged out of Dr. Murry's office, feral growl rippling his top lip. The X-Men knew his expression well, and pointedly refrained from saying anything.
The Brotherhood, however, weren't quite as astute.
"What happened in there, yo? You look like someone just - urk!" Todd gurgled as Logan rounded on him and grabbed the smaller mutant by the collar, hoisting him upwards and letting his feet dangle helplessly above the floor.
"Don't *even* talk to me," he snarled. Then, taking note of the receptionist advancing towards them, dropped Todd and stalked away. "Come on. We're leaving."
"But, like, what about - " Kitty started, but was silenced by a look.
"We're. Leaving."
Dutifully, the younger mutants trailed after him, and the doors of the mental institute slid shut behind them.
They'd travelled about three cars into the parking lot when Kitty darted out in front of Logan, effectively stopping him in his tracks and folding her arms in a classic 'I want some answers' pose.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"Well, what do we do now? We can't just leave Wanda in there. We *need* her. And besides," she tapped her foot, "from the looks of that place, she needs out."
Logan frowned. "Who said anything about leaving her in there?"
"Excuse me?"
"This minor setback just means we hafta use more ... unorthodox methods."
Jean headbutted her hands. "I *knew* it. We're all gonna go to prison."
*
"Impressive," Dr. McCoy murmured as he scrolled through the vast amounts of data in Moira's computer files.
"I'm afraid it hasn't been updated lately," the scientist said. "Everything's on paper; it just hasn't quite made it to the machine."
"I don't mind data entry work," Hank said. "I expect we have at least a few hours to kill."
"Oh, would you?" Moira pulled open a file drawer, lifting out a hanging folder at least five inches thick. "I'm terribly backlogged."
Hank accepted the heavy packet, wondering what he'd just gotten himself into.
"If you would just enter the data into the matching files? The student's name is at the top of the page." She indicated the relevant information on the top sheet, which was labeled "Wright, Scott".
"Sure," Hank sighed. "No problem."
*
"Are you *sure* you know where you're going?"
"For Chrissakes, Scott, *yes*!"
"Only that tree's looking awful familiar."
Rogue looked up at the neatly pruned conifer on the street corner. "That's because *all* the streets around here have them," she said irritably.
"So we're not lost?"
"No!"
"Then where are we?"
Rogue, straddled across her motorbike with the foldout map held at arm's length, stared about her in the bemused fashion of a thoroughly lost American tourist. Jeez, why did British roads have to be so goddamn difficult to navigate? They'd been travelling for almost an hour, and had yet to find one straight piece of tarmac. Every street, road and avenue was twisty and turny, and seemed intent on confusing her and the rest of her team. Roundabouts were another problem. None of them had ever come across such odd little islands planted smack-bang in the middle of the road before, and it'd taken a near-miss that almost involved Scott becoming street-pizza before they worked out how to use them properly without getting hit, run over, or bursting into flames from crashing into the trees - which seemed to be strategically placed so that bikers would always have something solid and painful to smash into.
The foursome was parked in a long line half-on, half-off the pavement, each staring at Rogue. She, in turn, was glowering at the map like she would've liked to rip its windpipe out, had it had one.
"I don't understand it," she grated at last. "We should at *least* be close by now, according to this thing."
"Well I haven't seen any place called ... What're we looking for again?" Tabby paused in once again filing her nails to look up at Rogue with a bored expression on her face.
"Some street called 'Acacia Road'," Rogue replied.
A lorry blew past, just missing the huge puddle they'd mistakenly parked next to. Victoria eyed it dubiously, and turned back to Rogue. "What are the names of the streets near it? Perhaps we're closer than we think, and just don't know it."
Rogue tipped the map this way and that, and finally read off, "Maple Road's the closest to it, and the closest to that is Sycamore Road and Willow Road."
"Got a real thing for trees, don't they?" Scott commented dryly.
Rogue's eye flashed dangerously at him. "If'n ya haven't got anythin' positive to say, then don't say nothin'!" she snapped.
"What about 'Elm Road'?"
The three 'leaders' swivelled to look at Tabby. "What?" they chorused in unison.
Tabby waved a hand. "You said they got a thing about trees 'n' junk. How about Elm Road? That on your map, Stripes?"
Rogue briefly consulted the sheet of paper. "Yeah. Why?"
Tabby pointed at the small white sigh emblazoned with stark black letters. Rogue had parked her bike so close that it was obscured from most of them, but the blonde had just been able to see it from where she was perched.
"We're not lost," Scott mimicked in a high-pitched voice. "I know *exactly* where we are!"
"Well, I do," Rogue shot back. Then added under her breath, "Now."
"I heard that!"
"How close are we?" Victoria stepped in, attempting to break up the hostilities patently stirring between the two X-Men. Behind her, Tabby giggled, but kept quiet enough not to be a bother.
"About three streets away, give or take," Rogue answered, folding up the map and sliding it into the pocket of her uniform. She slid her helmet back onto her sweat-damp head and began to tighten the straps once again. "If we follow Elm Road this way and turn right at the end we'll come to Laburnum Road. Then we turn right after that into Willow Road and a last left into Acacia Road. This Betsy Braddock girl lives at number 39."
"Roads, roads, roads," grumbled Tabby as she put away her nail file and hulked the ungainly crash helmet back over her skull. "And more roads. I tell you, we hafta deal with any more of those 'roundabout' thingies and I'm gonna go stir crazy!"
"Be grateful," Rogue said as she started her bike and gripped the handles. "At least we didn't have to do Spaghetti Junction. Risty once told me she got stuck in traffic on that thing for *six hours solid*. Moved about three inches the whole time."
"Yowch!" Tabby winced vicariously, and tucked a lock of blonde hair aside as the visor snapped shut. She revved her engine. "We going then?"
Scott, who was having problems starting his bike, shook his head. "No, I'm leading this time. Wolverine put me in charge, so I gonna - goddamit, why won't this thing *start*?" He kicked the machine, and it responded by spluttering, but not starting.
"No time to wait, Scott," Rogue revved, ready for the off. "Smash ain't gonna wait for *us*." She pulled away, followed closely by Tabby.
Victoria hung back a little, engine purring, as Scott's grumbled, coughing, and finally roared into life. As he punched the air she gave him a polite nod and went after the other two girls, knowing he could now follow suit.
Scott struck a pose and pronounced, "Yes! I am Spartacus!" grinning from ear to ear until a truck swept past, right through the copious puddle of rainwater, and soaked him from head to toe. "Aw, dammit!"
*
Moira came around a corner to find Rahne and Susan sitting on the floor, staring blankly at the opposite wall.
"Something wrong?" she asked.
"Hm?" Rahne looked up. "Feeling a little out of place, I guess. There's someone new in my room."
"Yes, I did assign a new student there," Moira recalled. "A rather interesting case." She paused for a moment, staring at nothing, before shaking her head to come back to reality. "Hungry?"
"Starved," Susan said.
"Come on," Moira invited. "I'll walk you to the dining hall."
*
"What are Hounds?" Kurt asked.
"From our time," Nicole explained. "A sort of mutant wolf. Incredible trackers. All mercy bred out of them. Not a good thing to have after you."
Kurt groaned.
Bobby cheered. "A rescue mission!"
Kurt rubbed his forehead. "Let's make this fast and simple. I can track. I'll need someone with an offensive power, just in case."
Bobby waved.
"Someone *reliable*."
"I guess that's me," Ororo said.
Kurt glanced around. "Who does that leave in charge?"
Bobby waved.
"Where's Rahne when you need her?" Kurt sighed. "Okay. Fraulein Storm, take Pietro with you. When you find Jubilee, just have him grab her and run."
"Okay," Pietro said agreeably.
"No funny stuff," Kurt warned.
"Hey," Pietro stood and crossed his arms. "I got a future I wanna protect too." He turned and walked out, Ororo trailing behind.
*
Two teenagers were already occupying a table when the three ladies entered.
"No way," said the blonde girl.
"Way!" said the tall boy. "And then Scott said," at this point his voice changed, becoming higher-pitched with a slightly different accent, "'You know what *else* I can change?'"
"Ew!" the girl giggled.
"Really!" the boy said in his original voice. "And she tells him," his voice changed again, "'You Earth-men are small in all the wrong places.'"
"Then what?" the girl leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table.
"What do you think he did?" the boy shrugged. "He said something stupid and walked away. 'At least I admit I'm an Earth-man!'" He opened his mouth, and a sound like footsteps issued from his throat.
"Wow," the girl poked at something on her tray with a fork. "If I ever come up with a pick-up line that bad, let me know."
*
"Mr. Wagner," Kelly said abruptly. "Be advised that saving the world does not erase any misdemeanors from your record."
Kurt looked up from a coffee table book he was perusing. "Not saving the world might obliterate my record entirely."
"With *your* record, I'm surprised you're going ahead with this whole thing."
"Let me rethink this," Kurt put the book down on the cushion next to him. "Avoiding the apocalypse," he lifted one hand, "clearing spotty permanent record." He held up the other palm. "That's a tough one. Maybe I should make sure you get killed tomorrow after all."
*
"So where does Susan get information like this, anyway?" Scott asked, referring to the exact street address scribbled in the corner of Rogue's map.
"We don't ask, and she doesn't tell," Victoria replied cryptically.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means that if we don't know the details of her hacking exploits, we can't be morally responsible."
"What system of ethics says *that*?"
"Forget it, Scott," Rogue said. "It's what they gotta do to keep their sanity."
"How'd you know that?" Scott raised an eyebrow, but the expression was invisible behind his bike visor.
"Because I understand people better than you do," Rogue sniffed. "I oughta. I've *been* at least a dozen."
"Is this it?" Tabitha interrupted.
Rogue braked in front of the big apartment building and compared the number in her notes to the one above the glass doors. "17 Acacia Road. That's it."
The four mutants spent several minutes fussing over chains and locks before trooping into the lobby.
"We'll have to find the apartment number," Scott said. "I'll look on this wall, and Rogue, you look over there."
"Uh, fearless leader?" Rogue said condescendingly. "The listings are alphabetical. 'Braddock' will be on this side."
"Oh. Right," Scott put on his best that's-what-I-meant face. "Well, hurry up and find the number!"
Rogue strode to the board and put her finger on the desired name almost immediately. "Braddock, C. 652."
"To the elevator!" Scott gestured grandly across the room.
"Psst," Tabitha tapped him on the shoulder. "Lifts are that way."
*
Betsy Braddock was strange.
All the kids in the neighbourhood agreed. Betsy was different. Not one of them. And it wasn't just because she was blind, either.
Betsy ... knew things. She knew things that no one else knew - that no one else was *supposed* to know. When she was younger her uncanny knack and unrivalled knowledge had earned her a few admirers and several gossip-driven onlookers, and she had revelled in their attentions, performing tricks like a trained monkey for scraps of their time and a few kind words.
Her family was fragmented, to say the least. Her father had died so long ago she could barely remember him. He left behind a wife and mother forever broken by his loss and two other sons who, though kind to her in their own way, were so far removed from Betsy in age that people were prone to mistake either of them as her father or uncle whenever she was seen out in the street in one of their company.
Betsy was the local curiosity, and for many years she enjoyed the role, basking in the reflected glory it brought her. She loved her mother dearly, but caring for the older woman didn't allow for many friends her own age, and she clung to anybody who showed her even the slightest interest. If people weren't awed by her strange abilities then the birthmark that slashed like a wide bolt of lightning across her left eye and forehead intrigued them. Especially since a certain authoress started writing books about a certain boy wizard with a similar mark.
It never occurred to her that things could change.
However, as with all curiosities, Betsy's fame couldn't last. At least, not in the form it had taken. People began to whisper about her behind her back, and then in front of her face. They called her a fake, discussing her dark glasses and lack of sight behind cupped hands. When she disproved their hushed accusations they called her a freak instead. Antics that had elicited gasps of awe in her early years now only drove people away, and she found herself alone and friendless as her peers began to keep their distance from the strange blind girl. The way she could navigate her way around without the use of a guide dog or white stick, the way she could spout people's secrets at a moment's notice, the way she knew what you were doing or even *thinking* at any given moment. It unnerved folk, and they tended to give her a wide berth. Even those she'd known virtually since toddlerhood started avoiding her. Crossing over when they saw her in the street. Leaving shops when she entered them. Moving their seats away in the classroom.
It was a lonely existence, but eventually Betsy became hardened to it. She became cynical and harsh, her tongue cutting and her brain sharp. Quick of wit, she took pleasure in sending her tormentors down in flames with a well-placed word or comment. She shrugged off their whispers and went about her duties to her mother, seeking solace in the times when Brian or James Braddock came to visit and allowed her time on her own, away from the stifling atmosphere that being her mother's caregiver created.
Today was one such day, save for the fact that Louise Braddock had gone to stay with her eldest son, leaving Betsy to her own devices for pretty much the entire week. Thus far she'd spent most of it on schoolwork, typing up various assignments and A-Level [1] essays on the specialised Braille typewriter the school had provided her with and getting things out of the way so that she could properly enjoy her free time. Nobody else knew about her mother's absence, and she intended to keep it so for a few precious days of privacy and liberation from her duties.
Thus it was that the ring at the doorbell startled her more than a little. She almost choked on her toothpaste, and frowned as she rinsed, spat and replaced the toothbrush in its customary holder at the side of their cracked enamel sink. Wiping her mouth, she pattered to the door and pressed her ear against the wood.
"Who is it?" She wasn't expecting anyone, but if there was a burglar out there who thought that picking on a blind girl alone at home would be easy then he had another think coming.
"Elisabeth Braddock?" asked a voice she didn't recognise. "Could we talk to you for a minute please. It's kinda important." Whoever it was out there was male and American, and though she knew several of the former, she knew none of the latter and her mind fell immediately to suspicion.
"Talk," she said stiffly. "I can hear you perfectly well from here."
"Uh, well," he stuttered for a second. "We represent a faction of, um... That is to say, we've come to ask for your, uh... We're a little conspicuous out here..."
"Aw, give over Scott," said another voice, also American, but obviously from the Southern states and female. "Lookee, Betsy. We stick out like a sore thumb out here in the hall in our uniforms, so could ya let us in please?"
Betsy's blood ran a little cold at their familiar tone and use of her shortened name, but she stayed her ground. "And why would I want to do that? I don't know you, of that much I'm certain. If you think you can trick me into letting you in so you can ransack the place then you're sorely mistaken. Apart from anything else you're too late. We were burgled a fortnight ago and the insurance hasn't coughed up anything yet, so there's nothing left to take."
"Ouch," said the Southern female in a low tone obviously not meant for her to hear. "So what now, oh fearless leader?"
"I'm thinking," the male snapped in a distinctly henpecked voice.
"Perhaps if we just explained things to her from here," chipped in another feminine voice, lugubrious and with an unplaceable accent.
"Yeah, and let everybody else in these apartments in on it, too? Hel-*lo*, mass hysteria," said yet another, this one snippy. "Isn't that what we're trying to prevent?"
Betsy touched a hand to her temple as a random image popped into her mind, as they were sometimes wont to do. She saw a tall building surrounded by a tall fence, topped with barbed wire. From inside she could hear screaming and a blaring siren echoed overhead. Beside her she was aware of a figure carrying a small crying child with red hair in his arms, and heard the words "Go! Go! They've seen us! Get the team outta here!" before the whole thing flickered out.
Betsy grunted and fell heavily against the door, bumping it with her head. The heated words on the other side ceased at the noise.
"You OK?" asked the male one.
"I'm fine!" she snapped, shaking her head to rid herself of the lucid and disturbing images. "Look, either tell me what you want or bugger off. It's 10 o'clock at night and I'm in no mood to be playing games with idiots on my doorstep."
"10 o'clock?" echoed the snippy voice incredulously. "But it's only the afternoon by my watch..."
"Different time zones, Tabby. Remember?" deadpanned the Southern female. "Look, Betsy, we're not here to intimidate or rob you. We're actually here to ask for your help."
Betsy snorted. "My help? Bollocks to that. Why would I want to help you lot? I don't even know you!"
"We're more alike than you realise," cut in the lugubrious voice. She spoke quietly, and it was clear she'd moved closer to the door so as not to be overheard. Betsy pressed her ear harder to the wood, intrigued despite herself.
"How are we alike, then? Elucidate on the topic for me, and then get lost."
A calculating pause, and then: "We know that you're special, Betsy, because we're special too. We have abilities that nobody else shares. Abilities that make us outsiders to the rest of humanity. You can read minds and move objects with a thought. Our powers, though not exactly the same, are just as exceptional. You see, Betsy, you're what's called a mutant, and we're mutants, too."
Betsy's voice hitched in her throat and her hands balled into fists. She said nothing, and the speaker took this as a sign that she needed more convincing.
"You can read my mind, if you like. I know you can. You've known about your abilities all your life, haven't you? It's not a curse, just a fact. I invite you to take a look inside my head and into my memories to support what I'm saying. Look into any of our - "
She didn't get to say any more, for at that moment Betsy fumbled with the variety of locks and bolts she'd attached to the doorframe; one for each time they'd been burgled. Snapping them back in record time, she pressed down on the doorhandle and flung it open. For a brief moment she realised how ridiculous she must look, standing there with just her Mickey Mouse pyjamas, fluffy slippers and battered sunglasses on. Her wild black hair hadn't been brushed, and there was a stain and small burned hole in the fabric at her knee where she'd mistakenly flicked her cigarette ash. However, it barely bothered her. She turned her thoughts around with a practised 'hand', and immediately sensed four separate minds, each with an underpinning sense of dread that made her stomach sink to her toes.
"I think you'd better come in."
*
"You want me to do *what*?" Kitty squeaked.
"You heard me," Logan said impatiently.
"We *are* gonna get arrested," she rubbed her forehead.
"Do it for me?" Todd hopped forward, took her hand, and used his best puppy eyes. "We gotta save the future so we can make a beautiful daughter together."
"Oh, ew," Kitty grimaced.
"Stop touchin' my girl," Lance growled.
"I don't gotta listen to you," Todd said bravely. "Haven't seen no kids claimin' you as their dad. You must not be important."
"You little - " Lance lunged forward, only to find Fred's massive hand in his chest. Seeing it would be in vain to struggle, he spat, "As soon as you fulfill your fuckin' *destiny*, I swear I'm gonna *kill* you."
"Okay," Kitty turned and walked towards the building. "Like, *anything* to get away from *them*."
"I'm not going," Jean folded her arms stubbornly.
"Yes you are," Logan said in a long-suffering tone.
"Oh, for goodness' sakes," Mags burst out. "If you people move any slower, I'll have to jump us all backwards again!"
"Does it have to be in the middle of breakfast?" Evan asked. "Literally?"
Mags gave him a fearsome Glare.
"Fine," Jean grumbled. "I'm going. See?" She crossed the parking lot to catch up to Kitty.
Holding hands, the two girls vanished through the wall.
*
Someone was following her.
Jubilee turned around, but she couldn't see anyone behind her. Maybe what she was hearing was the echo of her own footsteps ...
There it was again.
_I'm being paranoid,_ she told herself. But that didn't stop her from looking again.
There was still nothing there.
_See? Nothing to worry abou - _
Then everything around her went black.
Red eyes glowed in the wet darkness, though Jubilee could not see them. The slightly larger of the two Hounds had the extra ability of disrupting another's senses. Its orders were to capture this girl as quickly and cleanly as possible, and so it had blotted out her vision. This served the double purpose of disguising its own fearsome appearance, and inhibiting the target's escape.
_It shouldn't be this dark,_ Jubilee thought. Not that she was afraid. No, darkness was a thief's friend. She moved doggedly forward with cautious, sliding footsteps.
The smaller Hound circled silently around to the human's front left. As soon as it was in position, its partner extended its power's effects to the girl's sense of balance.
Jubilee had a momentary sense of being upside-down. She couldn't seem to locate the sidewalk. Then her weight shifted suddenly to the right, and she found it with her entire body.
"Ow..." she murmured.
Something warm and heavy laid gently across her, making any attempt to stand a foregone failure. It reminded Jubilee vaguely of her cat at home, but this thing was much bigger.
From somewhere around her feet, a mournful howl erupted towards the sky.
*
Somewhere else a figure turned...
"Smeg! Who the smeg's turn was it to walk the Hounds?"
"Rimmer's, [2]" the second figure replied, slumped in front of a multi-screened panel.
"The little goit let them get away from him again!"
"I know." The second figure shrugged, the light from the panel revealing the figures as male and female, respectively. The woman touched her ear and murmured something as the male ranted.
"Dammit! Why was he even involved with this mission in the first place? It's far too delicate! Contact is not supposed to be made until the subject reveals itself!"
"His uncle's on the board, it's the perfect chance to be rid of a family embarrasment, temporarily or not, in a dangerous time period, and TANJ seen? [3]" The woman ticked her fingers off in response to each comment.
"TANJ indeed. You've been in the field and away from the core too long, Rebecca. You're starting to speak skent."
Rebecca Richards [4] just grinned. "Our CeeVee's [5] an esper, all Rimsy's gotta do is grab her and bring her here, we'll wipe those nasty incriminating memories, put her back where she was and send her on her merry way, won't we dear?" She turned and cooed to a third figure slumped in a corner, curled up, twitching.
The male nodded. "Chronal damage?"
"Fluctuating at twelve percent, safe, relatively speaking."
There was a buzzing in the ear of the male. Sighing he touched the MicroCom inserted in the lobe.
"Captain Matthews sir! [6]" the voice rapped out. Matthews winced, Rimmer always spoke too loud, the smegger. "I wish to report I've captured a ... " Matthews initiated a feedback burst, ending his subordinate's report with a squeak.
"I know what you did, Rimmer." Another strangled squeak. "Get the Hounds and bring her here, before there's another incident and you damage the timestream completely. Use the CeeVee's chronoport."
Rebecca sighed. "He's saluting, again."
"Now Rimmer!"
In the corner, in a suit studded with drug ampoules and restraint/obedience circuits, green eyes flared gold.
Soon ... soon, she promised me soon....
*
Smash was growing bored with the game. His opponent was making many moves, trying to organize an offensive before their clock ran out.
Yes. Tomorrow, it would be his turn. He had but to ensure that Principal Edward Kelly died, and the thing would be won.
Now, the play area was the world. The enemy was controlling pieces in Scotland, England, Missouri, and right here in Bayville. Tomorrow, the checkmate would come down to the Institute.
Smash laughed. These X-Men, with their army of 31, thought they could block his access to the King. What they failed to realize was that he played on the side of the timestream. Fate was roughly the equivalent of 8 Queens. Any ninth piece could be captured in a single move.
Perhaps these fools thought they were playing Stratego. They believed Smash to be the Flag. Move to his square, and the game is over. Their victory.
Well, then he would have to play the dummy. The real Flag would be the notes he planted in Kelly's office, and himself, merely a Bomb.
"And who shall be their Miner?" Smash mused aloud.
*
The four strangers filed in and arranged themselves across the sofa.
"Betsy," said the one with the strange accent, "a- "
"Don't talk," the blind girl interrupted. She leaned over, opened a drawer in a side table, pulled out a box of cigarettes and a cheap lighter, lit up, and took a deep drag. "Okay. Start again."
"How confident are you in your powers?" the girl asked.
Betsy coughed out some foul-smelling smoke. "I put complete faith in them every day," she said. "What my eyes can't see, my mind shows me." True, she couldn't 'see' everything. Details were fuzzy, and colors washed out. But the important things, she never missed. "Tell me about mutants."
"There's about two dozen of us based back in New York," said the Southerner. "Plus another half dozen who just joined us. We all have different powers, some much weirder than yours. You're in the company of three of the most dangerous."
"So, what then?" Betsy pulled again at the cigarette. "You're just trying to get all the mutants in one place?"
"We know of several mutants living around the world," the boy spoke up. "We came for you specifically."
"Trying to add a telepath to your collection?"
"They already got one," said the annoying girl. Tabby. "Two, actually. Susan insisted we need you."
"Listen." The unplaceable accent was starting to irk Betsy. "A very powerful mutant is about to kick off a chain of events that will lead to a future in which mutants are exploited for terrible purposes. Right now, our teammates are tracking down two mutants with amazing powers. We need your psychic abilities to help them focus and defeat this guy."
"And if I refuse?" The cigarette dangled, mostly forgotten, from her fingers.
"We're all doomed."
Besty blinked behind her glasses. Not that they noticed. After a long pregnant moment, she lifted the cigarette to her lips and took a long drag, billowing the smoke out into a curling spiral that flitted up to a ceiling long since blackened by her doing the same every day after putting Louise to bed.
"A bit melodramatic, aren't we?" she said bluntly. "'We're all doomed'. Sounds like something you hear in a Saturday morning cartoon. What, are you gonna tell me that this 'very powerful mutant' wears a cape and mask as well, now?"
Rogue and Scott exchanged troubled glances - a gesture that didn't go unnoticed, though Betsy chose not to comment on it. Their minds were cluttered, but underpinned by a sense of dread that surrounded them like a shroud. That Tabby had a little, but not nearly so much, and the unplaceable accent - bollocks, she still didn't know that one's name - was practically wreathed in the stuff. Her mental image was difficult to make out, fugged by a mist of dread and fear held in check by a stubbornness Brian Braddock would've been proud of.
She puffed again at the cigarette, feeling the warmth as hot ash flecked off and brushed her fingers. "Y'know," she said idly, leaning back in her chair, "you almost had me up until that point."
"Whaddya mean?" Rogue was tense, unsure. Betsy waved the cigarette, leaving a trail of grey smoke in the heavy air.
"I almost believed what you were saying. I suppose I wanted to believe it, really. But you can't seriously expect me to - "
"You can't be serious!" The one called Scott stood up angrily. He wasn't a telepath, but it didn't take a mind-reader to see where she was going. "How can you not believe us? You know what you are - what *we* are."
"Wrong." Betsy's voice was low and held an almost gentle, lilting note, but her tone was deadly serious. "I know what you say I am, and what you say you are. There's a subtle, but distinct difference, I think you'll find."
"But how can you - "
She pre-empted him. "I can say no to the offer you're trying to ply me with because I have responsibilities of my own, without dealing with you lot too. I sensed that you were going to ask me to go with you, but the answer, I'm afraid, is no. I'm not going anywhere with campy ... " she searched for the right words, and considered their atypical attire as seen by her 'third-eye' as she termed it. "Comic book dropouts. Go play saving the world in the playground down the road, because I'm too old for childish games, kiddies."
Scott's jaw dropped with a near audible click. "But ... but you're a telepath," he stuttered. "You should be able to sense that we're telling the truth. That what we're saying is ... is ..." His expression shifted slightly as she blew another smoke ring and stubbed out the cigarette in a handy glass dish. "You *do* know, don't you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, and I'd appreciate it if you'd please leave, now."
"You *know*," he repeated. "So why aren't you cooperating?"
Betsy turned her head at him, face inscrutible. "I've asked you once, nicely. Please go now."
Scott's mind seethed almost palpably, awash with indignation and anger at her, and he stepped forward. "No, I won't."
"Leave, or I'll call the police."
"I didn't fly all the way across the world just to have you be stubborn and pig-headed," he adopted a strange stance, and the muscles around Betsy's sightless eyes tightened on instinct. "You're coming with us, whether you like it or not." Quick as a flash, and utilising all the training Logan had drilled into him, Scott dashed forward, intending to knock her out with a quick blow upside the head. In an instant, he'd snapped, changing from responsible leader to ... something else entirely.
Little more than a thug, really.
Rogue moved as if to stop him, but her position was wrong. Tabby, too, was too far back, and though Victoria was on her feet and reaching for him it was obvious Scott was going to evade her grasp. His fist was already swinging as he took his first step, jaw clenched with concentration.
{SWISH}
{CRASH}
He hit the far wall, pinned between floor and ceiling with arms and legs outstretched and held suspended against the flaking white plaster by some invisible force that kept him fast.
"What the f- " Tabby exclaimed.
All eyes turned on Betsy. She hadn't moved an inch, not even to use a guiding hand the way Jean preferred to. Her mouth's grim line was perhaps a little bit straighter, but other than that there was no visible sign that she was using her powers.
"I asked you politely," she said slowly. "But you had to be difficult. I would've thought you of all people would know that you can't try a sneaky move like that with a person who can read your mind." She shook her head. "Now, are you going to go quietly, or am I going to have to throw you all out myself?" She opened the packet of Silk Cut and tapped a new cigarette against her wrist.
The three girls swapped pointed looks, throwing a collective glance at Scott. His jaw had been effectively wired shut by Betsy's telekinesis, and the only movement he gave was the odd grunt or feeble struggle as she pressed an invisible wall against his ribcage and rapidly deadening limbs.
If they didn't get Betsy to Bayville, then they were sunk; but there was no way they could take her on and force her there if she wouldn't go willingly. Heck, that little demonstration just proved that they couldn't even get *close* enough for Rogue to drain her, let alone do anything else.
"Well?" She lit up, shaking the lighter to make it work.
Rogue swallowed. She was second in command, she supposed. Unless Victoria wanted to take the helm. Either way the same question remained.
What the hell did they do now?
"I'm not going," said Victoria. "Not until you look into my memories."
*
Out of the blue, Kelly broke from the meditative trance he had been indulging in until then, and spoke up.
"Jagan!" He said, nodding to himself.
"Wozzat?" said Bobby.
"Your friend - Ricky was it? - his nickname should be Jagan."
"Where the frikkin' Hell did *that* come from?" Guess who said that last.
Kelly elaborated.
"The Jagan, in Japanese folklore, is one of the Mazoku - the most powerful demons. It has the peculiarity of being all-seeing with its third eye planted in the middle of its forehead, and its body is covered in eyes when it is in its true form ..." He tapered off, under the mock-baleful glare that Kurt was sending his way.
"You'll excuse me for saying so Herr Kelly, but we're worried about our teammate here! This is no time for codenames!"
Silence reigned - *after* Kelly had mumbled a 'just trying to lighten things up' under his breath - until it was broken again by Ricky.
"Actually, I quite like it!"
*
"Really," Betsy tossed the stubborn lighter back into the drawer, "I have no interest in your snot-nosed running-around-screaming younger years."
"If I ever ran around screaming," Victoria said, "it was because I was in fear for my life."
"From what?" the telepath smirked. "Boy cooties?"
"Bombs," Victoria said in all seriousness. "My power is to return man-made things to their natural components, so I was assigned to dismantle mines. My partner Susan is a Technomage. She can feel what machines are doing. When she said 'run', I ran."
Betsy twiddled her smoldering cigarette. "Where are these mines? The Middle East or something?"
"Here," Victoria replied. "25 years in the future."
Betsy raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
"My other friend brought us backwards to avoid that future," Victoria paused. "I'm not sure if you're alive in it."
"Well that's bloody encouraging, isn't it?" The cigarette dangled from one side of Betsy's tightly-pressed lips, and she leaned back in her chair. "You four really know how to make a sale, don't you?"
"I never thought I'd say this," Rogue muttered, "but I wish Jean was here."
Jean. A flash of red hair. Screaming. "I can't stop it, Scott." Evolving. Mind-reader. Powerful. Teammate. Rivalry. Scott.
Betsy frowned at the surge of memories the name elicited from the Goth girl. "Stop it," she ordered.
Rogue blinked. "Stop what?"
"Can you all please just go." Betsy waved a hand at them and turned her face away. "I don't want to have to throw you out, but I will. You know I can."
Rogue's eyes narrowed. Stop what? She hadn't said or done anything except mention Jean - much to her own chagrin. The other telepath would've been very useful right about now, if only to try to get through to Betsy with the severity of their situation. The British girl was seriously starting to test Rogue's infamously short temper, and she just couldn't understand why she was resisting them so much when she *had* to already know that what they were saying was true.
All at once it hit her. She must have been projecting. Jean and the Professor both were always telling her that her mental shielding slipped when she got angry, and Betsy was doing a good enough job of making her just that.
She edged marginally closer to Victoria. "Let your shields drop," she whispered.
"What?"
"Project."
*
"476, Mr. Logan said," Kitty whispered once they were inside.
"Fourth floor then," Jean deduced.
"Where's the elevator?" the younger girl glanced up and down the hallway.
"Can't use it," the telepath shook her head. "That's just asking to run into someone."
"Stairs?"
"No. Just phase," Jean found Kitty's hand again.
"Down?" Kitty asked in confusion.
"Up," Jean pointed to the ceiling.
"I can't - "
"But I can."
"*Oohhhh* ..."
*
"Why are you suddenly so interested in Kitty?" Fred asked idly.
"That one girl, Victoria, keeps a notebook in her pocket," Todd said.
"So?"
"I wanted to know what she writes about," the small mutant shrugged. "Maybe get some hints on how to score with future chicks."
"Meaning you stole it," Fred prompted.
"She didn't drop it, yo."
"Go on."
"So she's got these, you know, family trees drawn out," Todd explained. "And it says, right there, Kitty plus Todd equals Nicole."
"Seriously?"
"Brotherhood honor."
*
Jean floated gently off the tiled floor, lifting Kitty to her toes and then entirely into the air. She tested her outstretched hand against the ceiling, which rearranged itself to permit her passing.
"Two," Kitty counted as her head gained the second floor.
The girls continued in this utterly unnatural way until both stood safely on the fourth floor. As they contemplated a map on the wall, footsteps made themselves heard.
Kitty turned, wide-eyed, towards the sound. Jean pressed her fingers to the side of her head. The footsteps slowed, paused, and reversed direction.
"I reminded him of something vitally important on the other side of the building," Jean whispered. "Let's hurry."
The twosome moved down the hall in the
silent, light-footed way Logan had taught them.
[1] That makes her about eighteen.
[2] Rimmer - from Red Dwarf, probably
an ancestor or something.
[3] TANJ seen? - There Ain't No Justice
- from the Ringworld series. I only read a couple pages, but i liked the
saying... as for "seen" i got that from Tad Williams's "Otherland" series
- read it! read it! It may be bigger than the _Wheel of Time_ books but
its absolutely mind-blowing!!!!
[4] Rebecca Richards - Yes *that* Richards,
whether she's actually a bad guy or a mole for the good guys I'll leave
up to you.
[5] The CeeVee - Chronal Variant (but
we already knew that eh?) Illyana.
[6] Captain Matthews - Yes he is. And
no, he can't be a mole.